32 to Osseo, and got as far as their beds at the Paynesville Hotel, lay in them, lost track of time. The pianist pounded on the door to rouse them, but it was the wrong door. They stayed in bed for a day, hallucinating that they were riding in the box of a coal truck, and returned to Minneapolis and went to work at the post office, in parcel post. When they heard music on the radio, it made them flinch. After four weeks of touring, the Shepherds preferred silence. T HAT was the end of the Shep- herds, and "The Rise and Shine Show" was taken over by Wingo Beals and His Blue Movers, except on their second day they spent the night in Larson's Bar and the Copenhagen Club and had a skinful, whiskey and beer and brandy and peppermint schnapps, and got snockered, burned to the ground, and wound up on the control-room floor at 6:55 A.M., too drunk to know who they were or why, and a musician friend of theirs, who had chauffeured them to WL T in his truck, pIcked up a guitar and did the show alone under the name Mr. Pokey. He sang songs called "Baby, I Got a Wiener for Your Bun" and "Ramrod Daddy" and "You Got Me Dancing in My Pants." Then he paused for the commercial and said, "Now here's La W ella Wells with a word from the Sunrise Waffie kitchen," and LaW ella Wells, stunned, came in to talk about how good Sunrise pancakes are if you spread jelly on them and roll them up tight ("You can use two if you like it thicker, but make sure to put enough jelly in, so a little bit oozes out the end when the cakes are rolled"). Mr. Pokey thought those roll-ups sounded just right. Then he closed the show with "Baby, You're My Radio": Baby, you're my radio, I love the way you broadcast all your charms. Your lovely little knobs That do their special jobs- I'd love to hold your speakers in my arms. Your dial makes me smile, You're the star of every show. And I guess you know that when a Man extends his big antenna, Baby, you're my radio. It was quite a morning. The phones rang and rang, and the switchboard ladies kept saying, "Thank you for calling," until they were hoarse. "Be- lieve me, we appreciate hearing your views on our programming. Thank you, Ma'am. Thank you very much. Thank you." But Ray was undaunted Vesta was away at the League of W omen Voters convention, and he had a reservation on the Pioneer Limited, a cozy com- partment for himself and an actress from "The Hills of Home" named Erie Monroe. She was twenty-seven and a real charmer. Ray was feeling no pain. He told Leo, "No, this epi- sode today- I tell you, all the worst things that happen in radio aren't as bad as you think. The only unforgivable sin is to not show up. Punctuality. The first law of radio: BE THERE. Don't miss the train. Remember that. Not that many people were ever fired for not being brilliant, but the list of bril- liant guys who wound up as shoe salesmen because they came late for the show is as long as your leg. We had a fellow once named Burns L. Strout, who overslept one snowy morning, and as a result 'The Ear ly Birds' wasn't there at 5 A.M., not the theme song, 'Bugle Call Rag,' or the cheery voice saying, 'Morning, early birds! And a beeeeeyoootiful morning it is, too!' The voice that was supposed to say this was in the sack, dead to the world, having been out until 3 A.M. climbing into a whiskey bottle. He woke up with a hangover that felt like his head had melted and came high- tailing it into the studio at 5 :07 with terror in his watery blue eyes and hurled himself toward the chair like a sinking ship, a sheaf of weather fore- casts and livestock reports in hand, and he looked at his engineer, Itch-his real name was Mitch, but he was always a little late turning on the microphone, so we called him Itch- and Burns hit the chair, landing on his hemorrhoids, and his brains sloshed. He moaned and swore and said, 'Why in the flaming hell can't I hear the I: . .ï.:..:::r... .,. .'.: .; ..1 .......... . ......... . , . clv\ 0v\ music, you son of a bitch?' The reason, of course, was that the microphone was on. Itch had put him on the air the moment his butt hit leather. "Well, as you can imagine, out in Radioland all the Friends and Neigh- bors woke up in a flash. Dithering around the kitchen, and suddenly this deep horrible voice nearby says, 'Son of a bitch.' Then they heard this awful breathing, and a bout of throat-clear- ing like a swamp being drained, big gobs of phlegm rattling, and then he retched, a big dry heave, and you can imagine out in the Friends' and Neigh- bors' kitchens, where the good folks are fixing breakfast, the sound of a man retching on the radio-it's memo- rable. Well, Itch leaped out of the chair and waved at Burns that your microphone is on, and Burns, who was operating in dim shadows, looked up and said two words never heard on WL T before. The Friends and Neigh- bors looked up from their coffee. I had just arrived in the control room. Burns saw me, and he didn't say a word, and neither did I. He got up and went out the door and became a shoe salesman. That was five years ago. He's still down at Thom McAn, smelling the feet, and we're here in radio, Leo, which is preferable." "Did you get a lot of complaints that time?" asked Leo. "If we'd apologized for it, we'd have got an avalanche, but without an apology people couldn't be sure they had really heard what they thought they heard. It was 5 A.M. People don't exactly hear the radio at that hour. It's more like a thing that is warm and hums and reminds you of your h " mot er. "Did this happen to take place in Studio B?" asked Leo. " Of "' d R " J course, sal aYe ust remem- ber: BE THERE. And never curse around a microphone. Never. And I've got a train to catch, God bless her." -GARRISON KEILLOR . ANTICLIMAX DEPARTMENT [From the Richmond (Va.) Times-Dispatch] WINCHESTER (AP)-A scientist told 182 Shenandoah University graduates to avoid complacency. "Hitch your wagon to a star. Keep your seat and there you are," Charlotte C. Campbell said. "I can only hope your star is as exciting and rewarding to you as mine was to me " Ms. Campbell has studied fungi for more than 40 years.